Do you want to move?
Do you want to pick through your belongings
Pack it all up
and start again down the street?
This house is my home
Where I had my children
Where we scrapped ice off the walls
And learned to have space.
When I sleep at night
I worry about leaving my past
And all the memories we made here.
But shouldn't we change?
If we fight against the current
We drown and sink beneath the surface
There is no way to add to a person
without embracing the difference
between the past and the present.
I know that nothing will ever stay the same
Life is not a picture
A painting
A screenshot
Or a photo.
Last night I had a dream
of a different woman and I
doing homework
In another home
With another child.
What is this strange reality?
A different universe?
An omen?
Or a simple flight of fancy?
I don't know
But maybe
it is okay
To move.
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